A Meeting of Heirs
by tailar
Summary: The accidental meeting, and its results, of Aragorn and Legolas. I recommend reading this before reading Gollum, another of my later stories.
1. Chapter 1

He watched the group of elves below him warily, no sound or movement betraying his position in the tree. They were heading for a nest of giant spiders that was a little too close to their caves to be ignorable. _They're going to need help. Lots of it,_ he thought, faintly amused that a dozen elves thought they were going to eradicate nearly three dozen of the huge arachnids. Shaking his head, he followed them, taking a path through the trees parallel to the one on the ground, a silent shadow moving through a realm of deeper shadows.

When the hunting party reached the edge of the nest clearing, they stopped and fanned out along it, surrounding the sleeping spiders inside. At some unseen signal, they all nocked arrows and drew their bows, each taking aim at a different creature. In the space of a breath, twelve arrows shot into the clearing, each striking a beast with a rather sickening _THWACK_. Instantly, the nest came alive.

Spiders shrieked and began flailing wildly, the chaos making it nearly impossible to pick one from the others. Arrows continued to pelt the creatures from all sides, as the silent observer sat unmoving in his tree, his startling silver eyes and elegantly pointed ears accounting for and tallying every shot fired. Wood elves almost always carried about a score of arrows, and if his count was right, there were only six arrows left unspent.

And nine spiders still moved about the clearing.

The spiders seemed to have targeted the sources of threat, and were hissing and shrieking as they charged at the elves concealed around their nest. _They live forever, yet they never get any smarter. You'd think they'd have figured out by now that one arrow to the eye will do it. Stupid elves. _Sighing, he drew his bow and took careful aim, holding steady for a moment with keen eyes fixed on his target.

He loosed. A spider dropped dead.

Two more fell before the remaining six charged his tree. Flipping the bow over his shoulder into his quiver, he drew his long hunting knife with the other hand and dropped from the tree onto the nearest spider's back. He slammed the knife through a chink in the creature's armor and yanked it back out. "The eyes, dammit!" he yelled as he back-flipped to another before the first had fallen lifeless to the ground. The second got the same treatment. Another spider slammed into its falling comrade before he could retrieve his knife, sending him tumbling to the ground. Rolling to his knees, he drew his sword and waited as the spider jumped at him. At the last moment, he swung the sword up and braced the hilt against the ground, allowing the lunging creature to impale itself on the five-foot blade. The elves seemed to have understood his shout; the remaining three spiders lay on the ground, each with an arrow sticking out of an eye.

He cleaned his sword on the bracken and retrieved his knife, disgusted at having had to intervene and betray his presence to the elves. He'd hoped to make the eastern border of Mirkwood by nightfall and continue his journey unhindered. Now it looked as though he was going to have a rather extended stay in the wood.

"Who are you?" demanded one of the elves in their own tongue. Most of them had drawn their knives and were looking at him with a mixture of anger and fear.

Rolling his eyes, he took the hint and adopted the melodic language as he replied, "So much for courtesy. You'd think that speaking to guests in the Common Tongue would be best. What would you have done if I didn't understand you? Shoot me without a second thought?"

The elves glanced at each other nervously. One, apparently the leader, crossed his arms over his chest and retorted, "It doesn't matter, since you obviously _do_ understand, and therefore have no excuse not to answer the question."

"I don't need an excuse. I'm just not going to answer it." The elf looked indignant and started to protest, but he cut him off. "You didn't answer my questions, and you didn't give me _your_ name either, so we're even. If you'll excuse me, I need to be going." He turned on his heel and began picking his way through the mass of giant furry legs.

"Legolas." The single, tartly-spoken word made him stop and look back over his shoulder. _Legolas? Thranduil's son? Hmm, I may have just saved the Prince of Mirkwood from a gory death wrought by stupidity. Typical._

"The prince?"

"Yes."

"Leading a party that small after a nest this large was ridiculously stupid. Have a nice Midsummer." He started to walk away, then paused and said just as tartly as the elf had, "Aragorn."

"The Chief of the Dunedain?!" The elf's incredulous question made him wince. He was uncomfortable with the reaction his ancestry often elicited, and the inevitable question that followed confirmation of his title got extremely exasperating. He nodded, knowing what was coming.

"The Heir of Isildur?"

_Stupid Ranger! Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ He turned around to see that the elves had all sheathed their knives and several of them looked in danger of having their eyes fall out of their heads. Legolas had seemingly recovered more quickly than Aragorn would have given him credit for. The elf prince gave him a rather insolent little smile and said, "I'm very sorry, _my lord_, but you cannot travel through Mirkwood without the permission of the king. You'll have to come with us."

_Well, I did wish to be treated like a normal person._ Sighing, he followed Legolas out of the clearing.


	2. Chapter 2

He felt his breath catch in his throat as he looked across the bridge at the elf king's fortress. A giant cave. Sealed off by a giant door. He'd be stuck underground until the elves either decided he was not a threat or got tired of having to feed him. His heart skipped a beat just thinking about it. He _hated_ to be underground. It made him sick, to be put in a cage, cut off from the open air, the trees, the animals. Elrond had said it was something in Ranger blood, something that connected them to nature. He'd also said that after too long, being underground or even stuck inside a stone building might actually be fatal. _As if I couldn't figure that out for myself._ Hunching his shoulders slightly and trying not to show his growing annoyance, quickly evolving into genuine anger, at the situation, he followed his 'guides' across the bridge and through the great gate.

The door slammed shut with a rather depressing _BOOM_ behind them, and instantly he felt the weight of the stone all around pressing in on him. The dog laying under the door guard's chair scooted out and licked his hand as he passed; he scratched her ears and gave her a small smile. She shimmied back under her master's chair, her thumping tail making her whole body wiggle rather comically.

The rest of the party trailed off in several directions, and Legolas gestured for the Ranger to follow him. They went down a wide corridor and stepped through an equally wide archway, into an even wider chamber. _The Throne Room. Joy._ He looked across the chamber to see yet another blonde-haired, blue-eyed statue of vanity incarnate, seemingly the normal appearance for elves other than Elrond and his children, who were _dark_-haired, _grey_-eyed statues of vanity incarnate. Glancing briefly toward the vaulted dome of the ceiling, he sighed and waited for the 'audience' to begin.

"Approach." Thranduil sounded faintly bored, and as they crossed the room Aragorn saw that he most definitely looked it, as well. _Although I suppose sitting in a hard chair all day listening to the senseless creatures that wood-elves so often are say equally senseless things would probably tend to get tiresome_. They paced silently across the chamber and stopped at the foot of the dais. Legolas bowed shallowly from the waist; Aragorn, however, still rather annoyed at the whole ridiculous business, merely inclined his head. Thranduil sat a little straighter, looking rather affronted, and said just a fraction louder than was usually considered dignified, "Will you not pay proper respect to the King of the Wood?!"

"Not my king, not my wood," the Ranger replied mildly. "And if you insist on waylaying every traveler that passes through the forest, then perhaps you should put guards at the ends of the road. It would save you a lot of hassle."

Thranduil spluttered indignantly for a moment, then regained his composure and demanded of his son, "Where did you find this one?"

"He helped us at the spider nest my lord," Legolas replied, glancing up nervously at the man next to him. The carefully controlled rage emanating from the Ranger was almost palpable, and the elf decided he should probably try to smooth out the situation. "He's very grateful for your hospitality," he said, giving Aragorn a pointed look.

"Oh, yes, I'm ecstatic that I could be here today." Sighing and shaking his head at the sarcasm dripping from the man's quiet voice, Legolas resigned himself to observing what was no doubt going to be a very interesting audience.

Thranduil narrowed his eyes and stared measuringly at the Ranger. "Why are you in the Greenwood?"

"Passing through."

"Why?"

"It is quicker than going around." Aragorn pretended he hadn't seen Legolas hide a grin behind his hand.

"To where?"

"The Lonely Mountain."

"What business have you there?"

"A message."

"From who?"

"The sender."

Thranduil frowned. "To whom?"

"The receiver."

The elf king was clearly getting exasperated again. "You will answer the questions plainly if you have any hope of delivering this message."

"Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "The general idea behind a secret message is that it is kept secret from everyone else."

Lips tight with suppressed anger, Thranduil pounded a fist on the arm of his throne. "You will tell me who you are and what you are doing here, or you will rot in my dungeons forever!"

"You never asked who I was. My name is Aragorn; I'm a Ranger. I told you, I am passing through on my way to the Lonely Mountain to deliver a message. And things do not rot forever, they eventually rot away." His mild tone was obviously infuriating the elf king, and beneath his own simmering anger he found it rather amusing. Thranduil's face was white with rage, and he looked as though he was about to explode. Then, the words seemed to fully register, and his face took on an expression of complete amazement.

"Aragorn?! Isildur's Heir?!" At Aragorn's patient nod, he continued thoughtfully. "You're Elrond's fosterling, right?" Another slow nod. "Huh. He would be the one you are delivering the message for, would he not?" The Ranger merely looked at him with a carefully schooled expression of neutrality, and waited patiently for Thranduil to digest this new information.

Finally, the elf king seemed to have come to a decision. "You will go with Legolas. He will see you properly arranged as a guest and you will remain here until an escort can be found to see you to the border."

"I can find the border perfectly well on my own," the Ranger muttered, further vexed at the prospect of spending several days underground.

Thranduil glared at him and practically snarled, "This audience is concluded."

Legolas bowed to his father, deciding not to mention his still un-given report, and pulled the Ranger out of the room by the elbow. Shaking his head, he showed the 'guest' to a room and took his leave with promises of dinner and a bath.

_Why in Middle Earth would I want to take a bath with that ridiculous scented soap they all use? He'll probably bring some kind of meat, too, and why would I want that? _ Throwing himself down on the bed, the only piece of furniture in the small room, and, of course, much too short for his lanky frame, he pulled an apple out of a pocket in his cloak and tried to ignore the headache that meant he'd been in this accursed cave for several hours already. Elrond was going to owe him big time for this.


	3. Chapter 3

Legolas stopped by the kitchen and informed the cooks that _bread,_ _fruit, _and_ water_ were to be taken to the newly occupied 'guest room', then went to the cleaners and told them to take hot water, _plain_ soap and any clothing they could find to fit a ridiculously thin, seven-and-a-half-foot man there, too. Sighing with regret that the Ranger had put his father in such a foul temper, he returned to the Throne Room to give his report before the king could begin yelling for him to 'come forward immediately!' and 'why hadn't he informed his king of the raiding party's success when he arrived?'.

Thranduil looked surprised to see him back so soon. "Why are you back here? You were supposed to be seeing to our guest!"

"Our prisoner, you mean. He's just fine, my lord. I thought perhaps you might like to know how the spider-nest raid went."

"Oh. Yes," Thranduil said, rather flustered. "Continue."

"We found the nest early yesterday morning. There were three dozen spiders in it. We surrounded it and shot twenty-seven of them before they attacked us. We would have been overwhelmed if _Lord_ Aragorn had not intervened and slain six of the creatures. We killed the rest and brought him back with us to petition the right to pass through your forest."

Thranduil had been nodding just as lazily as Legolas had been speaking--they went through this routine often enough--right up until his son had mentioned Aragorn's intervention. Legolas's stress of the Ranger's nobility irritated the elf king, but he found the man's obvious weaponry skills to be a bit disturbing, if not far-fetched. "Six?" he queried, cocking an eyebrow at his son.

"Yes, my lord. He shot three and then attacked the others directly."

"And he was not injured at all?" Thranduil was beginning to get profoundly worried that he may have bit off more than he could chew in waylaying this particular traveler. He, too, had seen the anger turning Aragorn's eyes to cold steel.

"No, my lord. Not a scratch." Legolas could see his father getting nervous, and resisted the urge to snicker. The elf prince's brief conversations with the Ranger had convinced him that though quiet, somewhat grim, and posessing a wit that was often quite exasperating, Aragorn was essentially a very good-hearted individual. He'd actually found himself rather liking the strange man. "If it would please you, Father, I would be happy to take him to the border myself, tomorrow."

Thranduil merely waved a hand at him and said, "We shall see, we shall see. Go now, and don't be late for dinner, you know how it vexes your mother."

Rolling his eyes, Legolas bowed and left.

Three days later, he poked his head in the door of the Ranger's room, intending to ask if he needed anything. Aragorn was curled up, far smaller than anyone of his height had any right to be, in the middle of the bed, reading a book and eating one of the apples he seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of. He glanced up as the elf entered, then went back to his book, but not before Legolas had seen the pain in his silver eyes, and the rather haggard look on his face.

"Are you all right?"

"No, I am not. Being locked up in a hole for several days tends to make me rather ill."

Legolas wasn't sure exactly what to say about that; the caves had never really bothered him. He preferred to be outside, but that was because his father was less inclined to chase him down and give him something to do if he was not readily available. "Well, what do you want me to do about it?"

"Let me out."

"Out of the room?"

"What good does it do to go from one hole to a different hole? I want out of this infernal cave altogether."

"I can't do that. The king controls the gate."

"Then I suppose you can just let me out of the room and I'll get _myself_ out of the cave."

The elf prince was faintly amused at the idea of someone escaping from his father's fortress. "Really?" was all he could bring himself to say without laughing at the absurdity of it. His amusement died instantly at the look Aragorn gave him.

"I've gotten out of worse. Besides, wasn't there a group of dwarves a few years ago that snuck out with the barrels you send downriver?"

"So, you are just going to stuff yourself inside of a barrel, then?"

The Ranger raised an eyebrow at his sardonic tone. "I could." Looking at him curled up on the bed like a cat, the elf almost believed him. "But no, I am not going to get in a barrel--how would I put the lid on?--I am just going to jump out the trapdoor and swim."

"There's a grate at the end of the tunnel."

"Does it go all the way to the bottom of the river?"

"Well, I...I don't know, but..." Aragorn gave him a look that said, _Well then, got anything else to say?_

Legolas glared at the Ranger; this conversation was beginning to put him in a bad mood. "I offered to take you to the border, but Father seems to think that we can't possibly go before the Midsummer Feasting. Apparently, it would be rude not to 'invite' you."

"Tell him you passed on the invitation, and I declined. I refuse to sit around, _underground_, for three _more_ days, just for a feast I could always come back to next year. Or go to at home."

"Fine. I will tell him. Pound on the door and scream if you need anything."

"Of course." Aragorn was forced to lift his book a bit higher to hide his smile as the elf stomped out in a most un-princely fashion and slammed the door.

The next morning, Thranduil sent Legolas to fetch the 'guest'. He wanted to try and get the message, or at least who it was from and for, out of the Ranger before he was forced to let him go. He sighed at that depressing thought. He would have liked to make the man stay for a while, not much news made it this far into the Wood and all elves liked a good tale. But, he was going to have to release Aragorn soon, as it was not a good idea to anger Lord Elrond by kidnapping one of his children, even a foster son, and locking up the future King of Gondor was probably a bad idea as well.

"He's gone."

Legolas's mild statement took Thranduil by surprise. He looked blankly at his son for a moment then managed to stammer, "He's _what_?"

"Gone, my lord. His room is empty, all of his things are missing, and no one has seen him since Remani took him dinner last night."

_Rangers, _Thranduil thought irritably. _I hate Rangers._ "Search the caves," he said dejectedly, knowing it would do no good; Aragorn was long gone.

Aragorn raised his face to the sun, deeply inhaling the fresh morning breeze, inwardly laughing at the elves who were no doubt scrambling around the caves looking everywhere for him. Smiling, he stretched his long legs toward the Lonely Mountain.


End file.
